Bottle for two? Or just blue.
Should I finish this bottle
Or save it for you…
Even though I know that you’ll never come
To claim it.
Should I shout down the hall
Until I grow hoarse
Calling your sorry common name
For at least 10 minutes
Or twenty,
And perhaps I should be so lucky that
the solid oak door to
Your tiny one bedroom eases
And a tiny whisper of your hairline falls
Into view.
Eh, maybe I’m just wasting my time
And falling even further into my own
Confirmation that this bottle was never
Meant to be finished by both of us
But rather, the only gulps to be taken
From this blasted bottle
Are from mine own tired, and burnt lips.
© Ms. Rei Thompson, 2008.
Blue
Do you ever seem to think at least five minutes before you crash into a wall?
Effortlessly, you seemed to make me think so.
Pretentious as hell, but somehow I managed to get wrapped in the phony package as well.
Only resting ev’ry three days, you spend your nights searching for
Everyone and everything.
So I suppose that I’ll continue to keep looking for you too from across the room
Staring wildly past your sloshing drink, which is held by the slender trembling fingers, to the slight flicker of your
Easily set eyes….
So I ask myself, will I always be the one to desire to see this pretty fiasco through?
Ahh well, I suppose that, no…
I am done with you.
© Rei Thompson, 2008.
Build me up pretty
Build me up pretty.
Build me up so much that I don’t even turn around
To see if it’s your whistling or one of my silly
Female friends who just wants to cheer me up from the
Morning day blues.
Build me up pretty beyond the point that
I can even see myself in the long line of girls
Waiting at the MAC makeup counter to purchase
The liners and sticks and glosses meant to turn you up
And on.
But then again, why should I make you do it?
Build me up pretty, that is.
Maybe I should build you down into the
Dirt where your sexual mind lies,
In the gutter of the misogynist filth which your father
And his father shoveled on your battered corpse of
Strained intellectual thoughts.
So sad it is, that I thought for two solid years that it was
You who needed to build me up pretty
When in actuality mine own eyes could not see the
Deep need for me to build you up pretty instead.
© Rei Thompson, 2008.
Bleached American Dream
He passed right by me with a closed fist.
But somehow I never felt the strain.
Walking towards me,
The eyes only narrowed their gaze to my left ‘brow
Which was adorned with three bands of piercing silver.
I don’t think I ever had a chance, because
The eyes never deviated from the left ‘brow
To the right, which would have lead to an expansive forehead
Embellished with thick black coils of swaying braids
Which ever so gently prodded my high, high cheek bones
And quietly approached two bright chocolate eyes.
Never could those eyes see anything but the left ‘brow.
And I, I had dared to show him the right,
All the while already ascribing to
the knowledge of a
momentary defeat.
© Rei Thompson, 2008.
